


Clifford

by hypernomad



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, Anal Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 12:13:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5127197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypernomad/pseuds/hypernomad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian is a secretary for a corporate douchebag and Mickey is an irritable delivery guy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clifford

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first (completed) AU!! I hope you like it.

Ian yawned as he poked the nodding dog on his desk. It was a novelty gift he’d been given for Secret Santa last year from Ted, one of the senior office managers downstairs. It was bright red-pink with a diamante collar around its neck. Apparently, it was a hilarious joke about his sexuality, which had become common knowledge a few months before thanks to the unwelcome attention of Katy from marketing. Except it wasn’t funny at all, and Ted was an asshole. However, like the good little office monkey he was, he’d laughed along and tried not to sigh tiresomely. He’d had way worse jobs and co-workers, after all. The mental anguish it’d given him was more second-hand embarrassment than anything. He hadn’t found the desire to get rid of it though – it brightened up the dull, grey interior of his office, and it irritated his boss to see it there, fucking up the expensive _1984_ aesthetic of the place.

He was still tapping the nodding dog’s head with his pen when he heard a knock on his door, and he drawled out a ‘come in’ without looking up. He heard the door open and watched a pair of brown-clad legs walk up to him, slightly bow-legged and short, before they stopped in front of his desk. Ian’s eyes were level with the delivery guy’s crotch.

“You gonna stare at my dick all day or sign for your fuckin’ package, Clifford?”

Ian furrowed his brow and looked up at the delivery guy, and thankfully managed to remember how to speak before he balked at the sight of him. “Huh? Clifford? My name’s Ian,” he replied, confused.

The delivery guy – ‘Mickey’ according to his name tag – rolled his eyes and sighed. “Never mind,” he said, and placed the cardboard box addressed to Ian’s boss on his desk. “Sign here,” he said, handing a digital signature pad to Ian.

Taking it, Ian spent as long as possible signing his name and passing it back to the other man. “So, uh, you come up here a lot?” Ian asked, feeling a little stupid but not wanting to let the guy leave just yet.

“Only when you order something, fucknuts,” Mickey said patronisingly, raising his eyebrow, his nostrils flaring a bit. Then he turned to leave.

“I guess I’ll just have to order some more stationary then, huh?” Ian called out, leaning back in his chair and smirking.

Mickey paused at the door and gave Ian a strange look. “Whatever.”

With that, he was gone. Ian immediately logged onto his computer and ordered the first couple of things he saw.

In retrospect, he probably should’ve waited until the initial excitement was over to do this, as the following week, a very annoyed looking Mickey was pushing a trolley with several large boxes on it down the hallway and into his office. Watching him through the glass doors of his office, Ian saw him swear when the trolley caught on the corner of a wall and then kick it forward angrily. Ian smirked.

“Well well well,” he said, leaning back with his arms folded behind his head.

“Shut the fuck up, asswipe,” Mickey snapped, frowning angrily. “Here are your fuckin’ parcels. Sign.” He dropped the pad onto the desk with a noise that didn’t sound too healthy.

“Does your boss know you talk to customers like this?”

“Does your boss know you ordered eight boxes of paper and a fucking cash register?”

“…They need it for downstairs!”

“What, in the imaginary cafeteria I saw on my way in? Or the invisible gift shop?”

Ian frowned. “Why are you looking through my shit anyway, dude?”

“Just sign the goddamn pad, man,” Mickey snapped, pointing at the device before turning to unload the parcels.

Ian went to sign the pad but paused when the brunet bent over. He scrawled down a few lines and then placed it gently to one side before leaning on his elbows to admire the other man’s ass. He rested his chin in his hands and smiled stupidly. It just looked so damn peachy.

“Y’need some help there, Mick?” Ian asked teasingly.

“No, don’t help me at all, shithead, it’s fine. You just sit there and paint your nails,” Mickey snapped.

“Hey, I’m not the one who decided to be a delivery guy.”

Mickey fumed internally but decided that round-house kicking a customer in the face would most definitely get him fired, and he held back. After a few moments of grunting which were immensely enjoyed by the red-haired man at the desk, Mickey was done.

“There. Have a great fuckin’ day, asshole.”

And with that, Mickey took his signing pad and angrily wheeled the trolley out with him and towards the elevator.

It probably said a lot about Ian’s psyche how turned on he was by Mickey’s seemingly permanent state of rage.  

*

The next day, Ian tapped his finger against his chin thoughtfully. If he ordered more stationary, he was going to have to order something smaller, because as much as he enjoyed seeing Mickey bent over and grunting, he knew he risked actually getting punched in the face if he did it again. Plus, after putting away all that shit himself, he’d felt bad for the smaller man’s back—and if all went according to plan, he’d need Mickey in good shape.

Oh, the fantasies he’d had.

Ian had dreamt of that pretty pink mouth almost every night since he’d met him. He’d spaced out during meetings thinking of that perfect little ass, those strong, short legs, those obscene knuckle tattoos…

He swore he’d almost been fired last Monday when his boss finally showed his face for the first time that month and Ian had spaced out and forgotten to take minutes for at least half of the meeting. His boss, Damien (aptly named, as he genuinely did look like a 46-year-old version of the antichrist, with the temperament to match), had yelled so loudly after snapping his fingers in Ian’s face that he’d given everyone in the room tinnitus, and this wasn’t particularly conductive to paying for the new refrigerator they so desperately needed. He couldn’t take any more belly aches from accidentally eating bad food.

Ian shook his head and decided against ordering anything that day.

*

Ian had learnt long ago that luck tended to come in strange forms. But he had also learned never to knock it when it did happen, as he was almost always grateful for the change of fortune.

This came in useful when, about a week later, his boss stomped into his office from a busy meeting that Ian had been kicked out of, screeched at him that they were almost out of paperclips, and that they had a meeting with the CEO tomorrow, and what kind of an office runs out of fucking paperclips, and why isn’t he ordering them already? Was he an idiot? - followed by a flurry of snapping fingers. Ian wondered if he was Italian.

When Damien finally stopped screaming, Ian sighed, ordered a bulk box of paperclips and hoped his boss would calm his tits for the rest of the day. He had no such luck. But at least he would get to see Mickey tomorrow. Maybe if he was in a better mood than usual, he’d be able to get his number…

The next day, Ian arrived bright and early. He’d been told to by his boss, but Ian hadn’t planned on actually obeying him until he’d known that Mickey was going to be coming in. His infatuation with the man was becoming ridiculous. His balls were going to be blue for the rest of his life if this carried on for much longer.

It didn’t even bother him when his boss insulted the tie he was wearing by way of a morning greeting. Usually, Ian would silently wish violent haemorrhoids on the man, but this morning, nothing could get him down.

Except, that is, the appearance of a delivery guy that was distinctly  _not_ Mickey. In fact, he was the exact opposite of Ian’s favourite foul-mouthed, tattooed courier.

“Mornin’ sunshine! I’ve got a big box with your name on it!” said the man jovially, and smiled far too brightly for Ian’s liking.

Ian tried not to look too horrified at the man, and instead signed for the package when he was handed the pad.

“Uh… Where’s Mickey?” he asked, glancing at the man’s name tag momentarily. _Ichabod?_ Ian was happy, not for the first time in his life, that he had not had a religious upbringing.

“Sick, I’m afraid!” Ike said cheerfully.

“Will he be back, then?” Ian asked hopefully.

“Sure hope so! Have a great day!” the man replied happily, and then turned around and began to whistle as he left the office.

Ian pouted and seriously considered tossing his computer monitor out of the window. If nothing else, at least he’d have an excuse to order a new one.

*

It took another few days for Ian’s boss to finally piss off again, leaving him to do his menial office work in peace. The very same day the miserable shit finally left for New York, Ian was ferreting around his office looking for something, anything he was low on. He couldn’t risk accidentally ordering something he didn’t need again; it was lucky that he’d managed to convince Lip to smuggle the cash register out of the office and straight down to the pawn shop as it was. Especially because he probably would have launched it at his boss in the last week if he hadn’t.

While sorting through a drawer in his desk, he found a number of ancient business cards that he’d never seen before and decided that he simply couldn’t perform his duties unless he had a rolodex specifically to store them. When he’d ordered it (with express delivery, of course), he leaned back in his chair and smiled proudly.

He arrived the next morning to await the arrival of his brown-clad, tattooed dreamboat. He had made sure that his hair was extra perfect that morning (which had warranted him a gutter-mouthed string of insults from Debbie for hogging the bathroom) and it was shining in all its ginger glory. The receptionist downstairs had even complimented him on the second-hand grey suit he was wearing, and he had smiled dazzlingly in return. He spent the morning replying to e-mails.

He tried not to get too antsy when the clock kept ticking until it was eleven-thirty.

The express option guaranteed delivery within 24 hours, which usually meant that it would be delivered before midday. But the clock kept on ticking, and Ian kept on typing. Sometimes, if they were really busy, they’d deliver in the afternoon. That was it. Of course. He typed up meeting notes, tried not to be too spiky in the reply he sent to his boss’s e-mail, and got people off the phone as quickly as possible in case Mickey showed up halfway through the call and he barely got to say a word to him.

It was around two-thirty when Ian finally decided to break for lunch. He had to take his pills, after all, or he’d be slipping into mania before long. He rushed to the elevator and willed it to move faster to the ground floor, silently cursing everyone who made the elevator stop every few floors. Finally, they arrived, and Ian filtered out of the elevator slowly like every other civilised human being around him until he broke into a run as he was halfway across the foyer. He ran to the convenience store down the street, bought the first few things he saw, and then ran back to his office. He ran up six flights of stairs before his legs buckled beneath him and decided to take the elevator the rest of the way. Finally, he arrived back in his office, slightly out of breath. To his relief, there was no ‘missed delivery’ note upon his desk, and he slumped into his chair in exhaustion.

Once he’d recovered, he shoved half the sandwich into his mouth and glanced at the clock. Two forty five. Damn it. Why wasn’t he here yet?

*

It was almost six o’clock and nearly everyone had left when Ian began to seriously worry. What if he’d been fired? What if he’d been rude to someone and ended up in a fight? What if Ian had given him too many gay vibes and he’d scared him off? Fuck, was he even gay? Why hadn’t he even thought of that? Shit, maybe he was getting manic again…

He was staring at the spreadsheet in front of him blankly when the door finally opened. He jerked his head around so fast that a jolt of pain shot down his spine and he grasped it with a wince. Luckily, Mickey didn’t seem to notice.

“Have you ever heard of merging all your orders into one or do you just hate delivery guys? I’m up here like three times a week these days and it’s starting to piss me off.” Mickey asked.

“Starting to?” Ian asked. “That’s odd; I thought it was your default setting.”

Mickey gave him a look that told him that clearly read: no, shithead, you’re not funny. In fact, he looked a little bit tired too. It was past six already.

Ian took the pad and signed his name. “So…”

“So..?”

“Was it a busy day today? I usually get the express orders the morning after it’s placed.”

“You got a problem, take it up with the complaints department, okay? I’m not paid for that shit.”

“No, no, I just… I was worried about you, is all.”

Mickey looked at him as though he’d grown another head. It took him a moment to reply and when he did, it was with all the eloquence he usually mustered. “What the fuck?”

“I just—your co-worker said you were sick.”

“What the—what, you think we’re buddies now or something? You don’t even know me!”

“Yes I do. You’re Mickey, the delivery guy.”

This idiot was going to make Mickey flip his desk over in a moment and he really couldn’t afford to lose this job. It was the best job he’d ever had. The pay was alright and he got to work without the constant presence of irritating co-workers he’d happily stab in the eye with a fork.

But this guy…

“Mickey?” The idiot asked, looking up at him with big green puppy eyes that sadly did not have cutlery poking out of them.

Mickey realised he’d been silently glaring a hole into the far wall and he pinched the bridge of his nose before placing the parcel down on his desk and snatching the pad back angrily. Then he shook his head and turned to leave.

“Hey, wait-!” Ian called after him.

“What?” Mickey groaned.

“I just… I’m glad you’re feeling better.” _Very suave, dimwit_.

“Good to know,” Mickey replied, and pulled open the glass door of the office.

“I mean—I just—”

“What?!”

“Wouldyougooutwithme?!” Ian blurted out. Man, he hoped this guy wasn’t carrying a gun or something.

Mickey’s eyes widened.

Oh.

_Oh._

“You want to take me out?” he asked, frowning and suddenly feeling a bit stupid.

Ian relaxed a little bit. “Yeah, I mean… only if you want to, of course. You totally don’t have to, I mean… it’s just that there’s a new bar in Boystown that I’ve been wanting to check out because everyone says it’s actually quite cool there and—well, if you don’t want to, you don’t have to, but I think it’d be really cool if you did…”

Mickey sighed and let the door swing shut behind him. Man, those puppy eyes really were pitiful.

“Look… it’s not that I’m not… you know, _that way_ …”

Ian’s heart swelled.

“…but… I don’t date, okay? It’s not my thing.”

Ian looked crestfallen and looked away.

Mickey couldn’t believe how guilty he was feeling. This guy was such an asshole. He had no right to be making Mickey feel bad for turning him down.

“Look, if you’re not attracted to me, you can just tell me. I can take it.”

_Yeah, right._

Mickey shuffled awkwardly. “I would’ve thought that this office would be full of gay hipster yuppies who’d be more your type, anyway.”

“…Because I’m a gay hipster yuppie?” Ian replied.

Smirking, Mickey bit back the ‘yes’ that was on his tongue and continued. “No, I’m just saying… what do you want with some Southside shit like me?” He asked.

“You’re Southside?!” Ian replied.

“Yeah…”

“No way! Where?”

Mickey had the odd sensation of being an animal in a petting zoo.

“Why do you care?”

“’Cause I’m Southside! North Wallace.” Ian replied, grinning.

The realisation hit Mickey like a ton of bricks. “Wait… is your last name Gallagher?” he asked.

Ian hesitated. Frank’s reputation was known far and wide in their neighbourhood and he briefly wondered if it would even go as far as actually preventing him from getting laid. “Yes,” he replied finally.

“You’re Frank Gallagher’s kid. Jesus, I should’ve known. The hair should’ve been enough of a giveaway,” he laughed.

“What, because all Irish people have red hair?” Ian deadpanned.

“Well… no, but you have to admit, your family doesn’t exactly help the stereotype,” Mickey laughed.

“I guess not,” Ian laughed in return and felt something in his belly flutter at the brunet’s smile. Fuck, he was gorgeous. “You never answered my question,” he replied finally.

The sense of ease that had crept up on Mickey disappeared abruptly.  “I, uh… South Trumbull?” he said, wincing a little.

“Holy shit,” Ian replied. “Isn’t that where Terry Milkovich knifed that guy a few years back?”

Mickey sighed and looked at the ground with a nod of his head and a grimace.

“Wait…” Ian felt like kicking himself. "Oh, shit." Of _course_ he was a Milkovich. There were only a few people with those distinctive knuckle tattoos in his neighbourhood.

There was an awkward silence as realisation dawned on Ian’s face. “Wait…”

“Well, see you later!” Mickey declared, and turned to leave once more.

“Mickey, wait,” Ian said gently.

Mickey froze, his hand gripping the door handle.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… I just…” Ian paused and rubbed his face in exasperation. “Look, I like you, okay? I don’t give a shit who your dad is. I just… I want to get to know you. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want but… at least give me a chance. Please.”

Mickey didn’t say anything for a moment; he just chewed his lip in thought. Finally, he turned around.

“You’re really Southside, huh?” he asked, placing his hands on his hips.

Ian nodded. “Born and bred.”

“Then why the fuck did you ask me out to some bougie gay bar?” Mickey asked, holding back a smirk.

“I—” Ian suddenly couldn’t finish his sentence, because Mickey was closing the blinds over the glass doors. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t feel like letting the janitors get an eyeful of the goods,” Mickey replied, motioning to his body. “I might be a nasty son of a bitch, but I ain’t no exhibitionist.”

Ian gulped, feeling his blood rush southwards all of a sudden as Mickey unzipped the black fleece jacket he was wearing over his uniform.

“Well?” the brunet asked, looking at Ian through his eyelashes and smirking.

Ian grinned and shrugged off his jacket, dumping it over the back of his chair and standing up to round the desk. He caught Mickey by the belt loops of his pants and dragged him closer, moving in to kiss him. To his surprise, Mickey jerked away.

“’Ay, watch it. No kissing, alright? This is sex only, remember that. No romance.”

Ian was mildly disappointed, but he was horny as hell right now and he wasn’t going to pass this up. Instead, he nodded and attached his mouth to Mickey’s neck. He kissed down the pale flesh and moaned softly in his throat as he pushed the other man’s coat from his shoulders and let it drop to the floor.

Mickey moaned softly as Ian worked a hickey into his neck and un-tucked the brown shirt from his pants. He fished his wallet from his back pocket, opening it behind Ian’s back and fishing out a condom which he tossed onto the desk. He shoved his wallet back in his pocket again and then pulled away from the redhead to undo his ugly grey tie. He tossed it off to the side and licked his lips as he worked on getting the taller man’s shirt unbuttoned.

Ian bit back a whine and decided not to look at Mickey’ mouth too much from this point.

Unfortunately, Mickey had other ideas. He unbuttoned Ian’s shirt until it was hanging from his shoulders and his eyes darkened in arousal. He stood back a little to admire the muscle on the redhead’s pale, freckly torso and ran a tattooed hand down it softly. He glanced up at Ian and held their eye contact as he unbuckled his slacks, smirking a little at the younger man as he dropped to his knees.

“Not so chatty now, are you?” he teased as he worked on getting Ian out of his pants.

“I wouldn’t use your mouth for talking too much right now,” Ian replied, smirking.

“What?” Mickey said, and then his eyes widened a little bit as grabbed the other man’s dick through his boxers. “…Oh.”

Ian chuckled. He was used to the reaction, but he was especially interested in what Mickey would have to say about it, or if he’d even dare to stick around now that he knew what Ian was packing.

As it turned out, Mickey was more than a bit excited about the prospect. “Damn,” he mumbled, seemingly to himself, as he drew the other man’s dick out of his boxers and wrapped his hand around it. “Fuck,” he whispered, before closing his eyes and licking over the head slowly.

Ian gasped and shivered, bracing himself on the desk behind him and tilting his head back with a soft groan as Mickey’s hand jerked him slowly. He glanced down at the other man just in time to see his pink lips stretch around his dick and swallow him down. Fuck, that was going to haunt his dreams for a while.

Slowly, Mickey began bobbing his head, taking more and more of the other man down his throat and panting through his nose. Ian let out quiet moans and gasps every now and then, and his hands found their way into Mickey’s hair gently. He threaded his long fingers through the soft spikes of hair and slowly started to rock his hips into Mickey’s mouth. The older man looked up at him appreciatively and Ian stared back down at him, watching his cock disappear over and over again into the moaning man’s mouth.

Gasping, Ian jerked away as he felt the beginnings of orgasm pull at him. “Ah, stop, stop, stop,” he muttered gently, pulling his slick shaft out of Mickey’s mouth. Smirking, Mickey wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, wiping away the saliva that coated his lips.

“Take off your clothes,” Ian muttered, pulling the older man up into a standing position and unbuttoning his shirt. Mickey didn’t waste any time; when the first few buttons were undone, he simply pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it somewhere behind him. He vaguely registered the sound of the blinds rattling and hoped, faintly, that they were still undetectable through the glass. Ian was all but tearing his pants off – his hands tore at the buckle of his belt and he yanked them down along with his boxers quickly, making them pool at his ankles. Grinning, Ian grabbed his dick and gave it three firm strokes.

“Ah-!” Mickey gasped, jerking into the other man’s grasp and flushing scarlet.

Ian chuckled and licked the shell of his ear before panting into it hotly as he jerked Mickey’s cock slowly. His other arm snaked around him and he grabbed Mickey’s ass tightly, moaning, and then let go of his cock to bring them flush together. He gasped as their noses brushed each other and wished, not for the first time that night, that Mickey would let him kiss him. He was a damn good kisser. It was such a waste.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by the sensation of Mickey grinding against him, rubbing his cock against Ian’s abs and creating a glorious friction between their bodies that had Ian letting out a stifled moan. He grabbed Mickey’s ass in both hands and rolled his hips against his again and again. Mickey held onto Ian’s shoulders, ran his hands through his hair every now and then hissed as they rutted. But he felt himself reach the precipice way too soon, and stopped moving.

He pulled away from Ian momentarily and wiped under his nose with his finger. “Lube?” he asked, cursing himself for not having any.

Ian looked dumbstruck for a moment, still dazed from the pleasure. “Uh—one sec,” he replied. He kicked off his shoes and slacks before rushing to the bathroom in the next room to find something suitable.

He rummaged through the many tubes and tubs in his boss’s bathroom until he located an old tube of hand lotion and, after checking that it hadn’t gone bad, rushed back to his office.

“Aren’t you worried that your boss is going to see your dick on one of the security cameras?” Mickey asked, motioning to his dick, which was still rock hard. He was perched on the edge of Ian’s desk and Ian realised that he’d never be able to sit at his desk again and not think of Mickey’s ass cheeks planted on the fancy polished glass surface.

“Don’t worry,” Ian laughed. “With the amount of shady fuckers he has coming through that office all the time, I’d be more concerned about myself if I was him. Besides, I’m pretty sure there are only cameras out in the hallways. He’s not that stupid.”

Mickey smiled as Ian approached him and almost found himself moving in for a kiss until he remembered that he Didn’t Do That. Instead, he sniggered when Ian pushed all the shit behind him onto the floor like they were in some trashy romance novel and gently lowered him back until he was lying across the desk horizontally. Ian’s tongue travelled from his neck to his nipple, which he bit at playfully, and then trailed down to his navel. Ian kissed it gently, closing his eyes and moaning gently into the brunet’s pale flesh affectionately as Mickey ran his tattooed fingers through his ginger hair. It wasn’t like him to be so generous with this kind of affection, but Ian’s hair was so damn red and he was finding it increasingly difficult to deny his newfound love of carrot-tops.

At some point, Ian had put the hand lotion to good use and his middle finger was probing Mickey’s entrance gently. The older man let out a hiss and leaned his head back as Ian began preparing him. He thrust his middle finger in and out a few times and then added another, scissoring them gently. Mickey groaned at the feeling of being stretched and reached down to rub his cock gently. “Fuck,” he barked out, arching his back a little as Ian entered a third finger and began ramming them in and out of his body. On the second thrust of Ian’s fingers, he hit the bundle of nerves deep inside Mickey’s body that made him see stars.

“Shit—Ian!” Mickey gasped as he felt his orgasm approach once again.

Ian stopped and pulled his fingers out gently, his face flushed and his hair a mess. The head of his cock was wet with precum. Mickey smiled as he realised that Ian had been enjoying that as much as Mickey himself was.

“Condom?” Ian asked, a look of horror on his face. “Shit!”

“It’s alright, I gotcha,” Mickey laughed, looking around him for wherever the condom had ended up.

Ian sighed in relief as he saw the little square foil package on his keyboard and he grabbed it, tore it open with his teeth and rolled it onto his aching cock. Mickey spread his legs wide and moaned as he watched Ian guide his dick into his entrance slowly.

“Shit…” Ian moaned as he gently slid inside him, and for a moment, he paused, letting the older man get used to the feeling.

Mickey’s eyes were closed and he was breathing through his nose, trying to even out his breathing a little bit. When he let out a sigh and leaned his head back, Ian pulled out gently, moaned quietly and then pushed back inside.

Soon, they established a rhythm and Mickey was wrapping his legs around Ian’s waist. He pulled the redhead closer and slowly began rolling his hips up to meet his thrusts.

“Fuck me,” Mickey whispered into the space between them, his eyes half-lidded.

Ian groaned in response and sped up his thrusts. He gripped Mickey’s thigh firmly and began slamming his hips into the other man, letting out a loud moan. He forgot where they were and moaned again as Mickey furrowed his brow and let out quiet gasps and groans.

Straightening up, Ian gripped Mickey’s hips and pulled him closer. He slammed into him hard, and Mickey let out a cry that faded into a moan, and then another cry as Ian did it again. He did this a few more times until he hit the older man’s sweet spot once again. Mickey’s mind went blank and he reached up behind him to grip the edge of the desk like a vice.

“Shit—! Ian!” Mickey moaned, bucking his hips furiously as he felt his orgasm approach again.

Ian was gasping and moaning as he thrust on and on. He had a slight friction burn in the middle of his back where Mickey’s clothed heels were digging into him, but he didn’t mind. He knew he’d relish the feeling over the coming days.

Moaning, Ian reached down and grabbed Mickey’s dripping cock. He wrapped his hand around it and jerked it tightly until Mickey barked out a loud moan as he came.

“Fuck…” Mickey grunted as he covered his chest with his come. He shuddered and jerked his hips up hard as his climax rushed through his body in lush waves.

As Mickey came, his ass clamped down hard on Ian’s cock and the younger man grunted and moaned, leaning forward and bracing himself on the desk with one hand as he slammed his hips quickly into Mickey’s body. He groaned loudly as his climax finally hit, and he jerked his hips backward and forward until it subsided.

They let out deep sighs as they came down from their highs, and Ian groaned as he rested his head on Mickey’s chest.

Mickey tried not to squirm awkwardly and just enjoyed the afterglow for once. He didn’t usually do this. His usual escapades involved back alley fucks behind dumpsters and in bathroom stalls with strangers, so he told himself that, just this once, he was allowed to let someone take care of him.

After a few minutes, Ian straightened up, disposed of the condom, and cleaned them both up with a few tissues from a box which had thankfully been spared from Ian’s earlier dramatic sweep of the desk’s contents.

They dressed silently, and as Mickey sat on the edge of the desk buttoning up his shirt, he realised how late it was. The clock on the wall to his right said that it was a quarter past seven, and he wondered if they were even allowed in the building this late. Shit, would they even be able to get out?

He was interrupted by Ian sitting next to him on the desk to pull his socks on. “Don’t worry,” Ian said suddenly. “I won’t tell your boss.” He smiled.

Mickey smiled and turned away. “You better not. I know where you live and work.”

Ian laughed quietly. When they were dressed, Mickey rifled through his pockets for a smoke. The spark from his lighter lit up the darkness of the office momentarily, and the older man closed his eyes as he took a deep drag on the cigarette. Fuck, the post-coital ones were always the best.

He waved Ian’s hand away as he reached to pluck it out of his mouth, took another drag, and then handed it to him. Ian took a deep drag on the smoke and sighed. It was comfortable silence, until Ian spoke up again.

“So… is this happening again?” he asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

Mickey was quiet for a beat. “I don’t know. Do you want it to?” he said, reaching for the cigarette again.

“Yeah, I’d really like it to happen again,” Ian replied, giving Mickey a stupid, playful smile.

Mickey shook his head and laughed out a puff of smoke. “You’re such a fucking asshole,” he muttered.

“That’s no way to speak to someone who just fucked your brains out,” Ian replied, smirking.

Mickey smiled. “I think you’ll find that my brains are still perfectly intact, thanks.”

“Hm. Well, anyway…” Ian said, and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He tapped it a few times and then handed it to Mickey, who punched in his number silently. He handed his phone to Ian to do the same, and then they both stood up.

Ian rounded his desk to grab his things and turn off his computer before joining Mickey at the door. They made their way down to the foyer and Ian let them out with his key card, and then they stood awkwardly on the street.

“I’d offer you a ride home but uh, I still got some shit to do,” Mickey said.

“It’s fine. Just… don’t forget to call me,” Ian replied, pulling his coat on.

Mickey laughed. “I won’t, trust me. It’s not every day you go to deliver a rolodex and end up getting fucked on a desk,” he said quietly.

Ian laughed. “Nope. Well.. anyway. I’ll see you.”

“See ya,” Mickey laughed, and walked away into the night.

At work the next day, Ian wondered if he’d imagined the whole thing. But the evil look he got from Cathy from down the hall in the break room the next day told him that he hadn’t.


End file.
